Valid Points From a Deceased Man

Beth spent the rest of her evening amongst her family, sitting around the coffee table with her mother's old scrapbooks laid out, laughing and reminiscing. They sipped tea and passed around a bowl of candy corn—most of which went to Hershel and Glenn while everyone else politely passed. And for a few hours, Beth barely thought about Merle or Daryl or The Governor.

For a few precious hours, Merle stayed gone and allowed Beth to have some time to be normal with the rest of her family, despite everything they were currently wrapped up in. Even Maggie seemed to forget the circumstances at hand for a short time. Which Beth was grateful for.

Of course, it was a different story once they'd all said goodnight and retired to their respective sleeping spaces. While the soft haze of reminiscence and fond memories began to fade away, Shawn locked himself away behind the door of his lifelong bedroom, Maggie and Glenn disappeared into Maggie's old bedroom, and Hershel retreated to his own quiet room. Leaving Beth to retreat into her bedroom and shut the door on a dark hallway, apprehensive about what she might come face-to-face with once she was alone.

But Merle didn't show up until she'd already stripped down, changed into pajamas, shut off the light, and snuggled into her bed.

Even in the dim glow of the moon that leaked through the curtains, she could see him sitting at her desk on the other side of the room. She shut her eyes and let out a long breath, wrapping the blankets a little tighter around her shoulders.

"You gonna keep me up all night again?" She guessed.

He cackled. "That's what she said."

Beth kept her eyes shut and ignored his tasteless joke. "Seriously," she mumbled.

There was a brief moment of silence. Then, "Wasn't my plan. Ain't try'na make ya any crankier than you already are."

She chose to ignore that and focus on falling asleep. She was so tired, and honestly, she had no desire to listen to anything else Merle might want to say.

But as usual, he couldn't take a hint.

"Seriously, though…"

She didn't open her eyes, but she sighed and rolled over so her back was to him. He took it as a sign that she was still listening.

"Don't go takin' this as an apology, 'cause I ain't got shit to be sorry for," he said. "But I'll admit, I can be a little… crass at times. I can't help it. 'Specially when it comes to Daryl. Dying didn't do shit for my patience. Or my temper."

Beth remained silent and unmoving. She listened tentatively, beginning to wonder if maybe she should pull out her headphones and try to drown him out with music.

"But all's I been tryn'a tell ya is… Yer worryin' me, blondie. I know you think ya got this all under control, but I don't think it's gonna be that easy. This Gift you got… well, I reckon it's a helluva lot bigger'an' any of us. I got a bad feelin' 'bout it."

She tried to bite her tongue, but she couldn't help herself. Without opening her eyes or rolling over, she asked, "Now you have a bad feeling? What the hell do you even know about my Gift…"

"Not a lot," he admitted. "But I know you. Spendin' all this time together, I'm gettin' ta know you real well. And I can tell yer gettin' scared. I can tell yer startin' to get in over your head with all these visions and dreams."

Her heart skipped with dread. She didn't respond. She lay motionless, wrapped up tightly in her blanket. He was right: she was scared. But not exactly for the reasons he'd surmised.

It was a scary thing to realize Merle Dixon was getting to know her. Even scarier to realize there was no real way to avoid such a thing. They were spending a lot of time together, unfortunately.

He clucked his tongue, but he wasn't laughing or cackling. He wasn't so much as huffing out a breath of amusement. He was speaking matter-of-factly. Solemnly. Leaving her with no doubt as to how serious he was.

"I may not be any kinda expert, but I think it's pretty fuckin' clear that you need to get your shit together—and I don't mean that in a rude way. I mean, you need to figure this Gift out. You need to learn how to control it… else it'll end up controllin' you. And we can't be havin' that. There's too much at stake here. I seen the look on yer face after yer little nap in Rick's car. I also seen how hard it was to wake ya up. You can't keep toein' the line between here an' The Other Side like it's some kinda tightrope. You gotta be in control, girl. You gotta know what you're capable of, how to use it to your advantage. You gotta know how ta get where ya need to go and get back. That's the important part—ya hear? Getting back."

Okay, maybe Merle was more observant than Beth gave him credit for.

She slowly lifted her eyelids but didn't move any other muscles, staring at the wall next to her bed in complete silence. The slew of visions and odd dreams that she'd experienced over the last week were drifting around inside her head, speeding up her heartbeat and making her body stiff with anxiety.

Shit. He had a really good point. As odd as it seemed, she was fairly certain that Morgan or Florence Newton would be giving her the same advice right now if they could. Albeit less condescendingly.

"And look," Merle went on. "I know this shit's turned yer whole little sheltered world upside-down in less'an a week, and it's a lot to take in, but just 'cause yer makin' a new friend don't mean everything else is gonna fall together all picture-perfect like. I already knew you'd get a crush on my dumbass brother, I ain't much upset 'bout that—it's the fact that you're lettin' yer head get lost up in the clouds. I don't give a fuck if you wanna go 'round holdin' hands with Daryl, kissin' him, what-have-you. Hell, the boy could use some female affection. But ya can't let it distract you. Y'all get too close, get all soft, let yer feelings get in the way, an' the next thing we know, The Governor's gettin' one over on us an' makin' ghosts outta both y'all. This just ain't the time fer relationship bullshit. You got a Gift that you ain't even known you had till a few days ago, and we have a murder to solve. You need to get yer priorities straight, Greene."

Beth clenched her jaw and resisted the urge to turn around and face Merle. Instead, she muttered, "And how d'you suggest I do that? Since you obviously know so much about me and my… priorities."

He sighed and she could hear the agitation in his voice. But for the first time since she'd met him, he seemed to be suppressing his anger and at least attempting to remain civil. "Well, I think you should start on controlling this Gift. Reckon it ain't very healthy fer you to be passin' out every time you get a vision. Or driftin' off to places unknown whenever you fall asleep. Ya oughta learn how to use it instead of lettin' it run all haywire."

Fair enough.

"Okay," she said through gritted teeth. "How, exactly?"

"Christ, I dunno. Can't you Google it or sum'n? I didn't say I had all the answers, I'm just tryn'a give you some advice. Talk some damn sense into that teenage-hormone-filled noggin."

She reflexively mumbled, "I'm not a teenager."

"Whatever," he said. "Point is, you need ta take a cue from that Swamp Witch guy you admire so much. Need ta figure out what yer dealin' with here, learn how to channel it and manage it like he does. What kinda self-respecting psychic would ya be if you didn't even try to have control over your powers?"

Google it, she thought. Google it? The one thing she admittedly did not do when it came to seeing dead people and having visions from The Other Side? Could it really be that simple?

Beth shut her eyes and tried to tell herself that this was a problem for tomorrow. But she could feel Merle's expectant silence hanging over her. And in all honesty, there was no way she was gonna be able to fall asleep with this heavy matter weighing on her mind.

She recalled what Morgan had mentioned in passing; how he meditated and had visions of her, how he was teaching his son to use their inherited Gift. She recalled the confidence in his voice, the strength he seemed to exude, the way he spoke like he knew exactly what he was doing. From the sounds of it, and from what she witnessed, he definitely had this whole thing figured out.

So maybe meditation was the first step? But it wasn't like she could call him up and ask.

She lay still and quiet for several more moments, contemplating her predicament. If she tried to go to sleep right now, who was to say she wouldn't accidentally step into another plane? Who was to say she wouldn't lose control and fall into Papa Legba's grasp this time? The Witch of Youghal had already warned her once.

And it was true: she was very new to her Gift. Extremely inexperienced, despite the fact that she'd had these abilities for her entire life. All she'd ever known was that dead people talked to her, though. She'd never had to deal with visions and dreams and peeks past The Veil. She'd never had to contemplate the possibility of a demon using her novice ignorance against her. Not until now.

What if Merle was right? (God help her for thinking that, but…)

What if Beth really was in way over her head?

The prolonged silence proved to be too tense for Merle's liking, and he spoke a little louder, an edge of agitation to his tone. "Alright blondie, look—I know. I know yer sick of me, I know I been gettin' on yer every last nerve, I know ya think you wanna banish me—"

She interjected sharply, "I don't think I want to—I'm going to. I'm gonna banish you away from me, Merle Dixon. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the next day. I haven't decided yet. But I have decided that I'm not spending so much as one more week takin' your abuse."

She could feel the heat from his glare on her back, but she still refused to roll over and face him. If she had, she would've seen him narrowing his eyes, and she would've seen the corded muscles in his neck tensing and flexing as he struggled to suppress his rage.

Surprisingly, and somewhat impressively, he bit his tongue and retained his passive tone. "Ain't no abuse about it. Only thing I've been doin' is tellin' you like it is. Crackin' a few jokes. Not my fault you got a stick up yer ass."

Beth blurted out the first retort that popped into her head and formed on her lips: "You've lied. Over and over. Even when it came down to your own murder, down to the fate of your brother's soul—you've lied and lied and lied some more. We wouldn't have half the mysteries to solve that we do if it weren't for your bullshit head games."

Merle scoffed, but she could hear him shifting uncomfortably in her desk chair, clearing his throat.

Then, with far more honesty than she'd ever anticipated from him, he said, "Alright. I respect that—tellin' me like it is. You ain't wrong. I can't say I've been the most honest motherfucker to ever haunt a bitch."

There was a pregnant pause. Beth let out a sigh of resignation and rolled over to finally face Merle, glaring at him over the top of her blanket.

She made sure he could see the icy expectation in her eyes when she asked, "But…?"

His mouth quirked to the side, curving downwards, and his arms tightened over his chest. He glanced away, frowning, as he muttered, "But… I didn't lie outta bad intentions. Never left nothin' out on purpose. Just… wanted to make sure you was doin' this for the right reasons."

Beth didn't say anything, but the look she was giving him got the message across. Regardless, Merle didn't appear the least bit apologetic.

"Can't be havin' some gold digger sniffin' 'round my baby brother," he clarified. "'F you knew there was money or somethin' involved—somethin' you could swindle him out of—who's to say ya wouldn't keep it fer yerself an' throw us Dixon boys to the wolves?"

"Because I'm not a selfish person," she replied flatly. "I think I've made it pretty clear that I'm doing this for Daryl; not for myself or my family. And sure as hell not for you. I've had a choice this entire time, and I've continuously chosen to help."

Merle rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I get it," he said, annoyed. "Saint Beth an' all that, blah blah blah. Oughta get you a statue outside the Vatican, huh?"

"The Vatican is for Catholics, dumbass."

He rolled his eyes.

Beth lowered the blanket a few inches, still glaring at him suspiciously from where she lay. "What're you gettin' at, anyway? It's not like there's some kinda reward I'm going after. So what've you been lying about this time?"

He sighed and slumped his shoulders like she'd just asked him to take the trash out. But it only took a moment of hesitation before he was replying, "I didn't lie. Just… told a little fib."

She tensed and prepared to admonish him, but before she could, he began to explain.

"I didn't spend all the money. It's… there's still a little bit left."

"I knew it." Beth couldn't help but scoff in disgust. "I knew you couldn't have spent it all."

He paused and uncrossed his arms, leaning forward in his seat and widening his eyes at her, speaking more intensely. "But that don't mean it's for you. Ya hear me? It's for Daryl. He rightfully earned it, just like I did. Ain't nobody else entitled to it 'cept him."

"How dare you accuse me of wanting that money, when I'm the one who told you it should've gone to Daryl in the first place. I—"

Merle put up a hand to stop her and snapped, "Whatever the fuck you say, sweetcheeks. But I know women. I know how y'all operate. And if there's money involved, y'all always go for the cash. So don't waste yer breath tryn'a convince me otherwise, 'cause I got a whole goddamn lifetime of experience that tells me females can't be trusted."

She cringed and shot him a death glare. "I don't give a crap about your dad's blood money. But when you keep things to yourself—when you lie because you think you can't trust me—that's what tells me I don't need you. I could banish you and figure out the truth on my own. I don't have time for your games, and neither does Daryl."

She expected him to laugh, or at least flash one of his signature smug smiles. But he didn't. He paused. Hesitated. Looked away from her and fiddled with a loose thread in his jeans.

And the repentant tone of his voice threw her off, to the point that she had no choice but to hear him. To absorb his words.

"I know. I fucked up, alrigh'? And I'm tryin' to come clean. Can't blame me fer fibbin' 'bout the money. But I ain't lied 'bout nothin' else, hand to God." He sat up straighter and narrowed his eyes, scowling heavily. Then his expression softened just as quickly as it had hardened, and he blinked and avoided her gaze. He spoke quietly, "Well… mostly."

Beth blinked in astonishment. She'd almost started feeling bad for him.

She repeated, incredulous, "Mostly?"

Merle shrugged and said, "Y'asked if I ever heard of that Brian Blake fella. Said I didn't."

She raised her eyebrows, staring back at him expectantly. He still wouldn't meet her gaze.

He let out a tired sigh. "I didn't know him—'f that's what yer thinkin'. Wouldn't lie about sum'n like that. But I… think I mighta heard about him. Years ago. Way before all the drugs an' drink liquified my memory."

She was far too intrigued to pretend otherwise at this point. She sat up and leaned back against the headboard of her bed, the blanket still drawn up to her chest, a frown of uncertainty on her face. But she was sitting up and giving Merle her full attention, wordlessly signaling for him to go on. He was worrying his lower lip and bearing a striking resemblance to Daryl, visibly tense and avoiding eye contact.

When a long moment passed in silence, Beth broke it by asking, "And what did you hear about him?" She quickly added, "Be honest, Merle."

Merle shrugged and continued fiddling with the loose thread on his jeans. Then he said, "Back when I was in the Service—got stationed with some fellas from Georgia. There was a few of us from King County that got put in the same company. I heard some older guys talkin' 'bout a Blake from Peachtree City, some younger dude that they did a tour with. They'd just caught wind that he was dead. They was sayin' how they were surprised, how they never thought he'd be the type to put the barrel in his mouth. They was uh, they was passin' 'round their theories… 'cause none of 'em really believed he did himself in. Guess they all thought it was some kinda cover-up."

Beth furrowed her brow in confusion, but all her doubt and frustration had fled at the implication that she could hear in Merle's tone.

She urged him on, "A cover-up for what? What kind of theories were they passing around?"

He frowned and replied, "Crazy shit. I'ono… Can't say I knew any of 'em too well. We didn't spend a whole lotta time together. And I didn't ask many questions. Wasn't out there to make friends. But the shit I did catch seemed a li'l outta pocket. Never gave it much thought, if we're bein' honest."

"Why not?"

"'Cause they made it sound like his own brother killed him. And that just… never made no damn sense to me."

Beth let out a deep breath. "So you have heard of Philip Blake. You knew who he was even before Rick helped us figure it out," she accused, barely suppressing her fury. "And you played dumb this whole time."

"No!" Merle argued, giving her a look of repulsion. "Are you not listening? I didn't know who the fuck he was, I didn't even know his dead brother—the name barely rang a bell, for fuck's sake. Took me all day to remember where the hell I'd heard it before. You know how many fuckin' years ago that was? I don't like thinkin' about my time in the Service, blondie. Tried ta drink all them memories away. And I damn near succeeded."

Beth scowled with heavy disbelief.

"Even if I had remembered it, I wasn't gonna go spoutin' off every useless bit of information that came to mind," he said bitterly. "Not like you, little miss 'I got a dead teacher with a similar name.' That's the difference between you an' me—I only speak up when it's actually useful."

She scoffed. "At least I try to help. You just keep things to yourself until you think you might get something out of it."

"Oh yeah? What the fuck am I s'posed to get outta this? Huh? The hell y'all gonna do when I say, 'oh yeah I think I mighta heard about that guy, think he mighta not killed himself'? What answers d'you think we're gonna get outta that, genius?"

"I don't know, and that's the point. Every little piece of this stupid puzzle matches up to make something sensical, and when you keep things to yourself, it just makes the puzzle that much harder to solve. I really shouldn't have to explain this to you."

"Then don't. Told ya what I know already—all of it. Now quit yer bitchin'." Merle leaned back in the chair and glared at her through the dim glow of the moon. "Typical female, only listenin' when it's convenient for ya."

Beth huffed out an angry sigh and scooted back down in bed, rolling over and pointedly turning her back to him. "Yeah, 'cause it's been so convenient listening to everything you say."

"Obviously not everything," he argued. "'Cause I told you every fuckin' thing you coulda ever wanted to know about me an' Daryl that first night I was here, and you didn't listen to one damn bit of it. Too busy tryn'a listen to yer Jonas Brothers and yer fuckin' Britney Spears."

She scowled to herself, recalling the bits and pieces she'd caught throughout the first night of being haunted by Merle. He had been talking about his brother a lot. But admittedly, she'd been trying her hardest to drown him out.

How was she to know? At that point, she'd thought it was some kind of one-off thing. Like a curse, or a punishment. How could she have guessed that this dead, foul-mouthed redneck had anything of value to say?

She mumbled back sarcastically, "Okay, grandpa."

He grunted, displeased. Then he muttered, "Kiss my wrinkly ass. Can't admit when yer wrong, huh? …Figures."

She shut her eyes and attempted to push away the frustration and anger that he'd filled her with so quickly. But she only got a few seconds of silence before Merle was speaking again.

"You gonna tell Daryl 'bout the money?"

"What's the point?" She quipped. "We don't need any more mysteries to solve. I think worrying about saving his soul and finding the guy that wants to kill him is a little more important."

There was a long pause. Then he asked, very seriously and without any traces of sarcasm in his tone, "You really don't wanna know where it is? Or even how much it is?"

"No, Merle. I really don't care," she replied plainly. "This has been enough of an emotional rollercoaster for Daryl already—and for me. I'd like to pretend that money's all gone, like you said it was. I don't even wanna think about it."

"How come?"

"Because I don't wanna think about how hard it'd be not to just give The Governor what he wants and be done with it. I don't wanna be tempted with an easy way out… not when it means saving Daryl's life but sacrificing his soul in the process."

That seemed to be a far more honest answer than Merle had been expecting because he went silent. Beth kept her eyes tightly shut, wishing sleep would take her already.

But now she was thinking about a thousand different things at once, and none of them were very pleasant. She was almost scared to risk falling asleep in this state of mind. Who was to say where she'd go this time?

Merle sucked on his teeth, the sound echoing off the bedroom walls and interrupting the peaceful silence that had settled throughout the entire farmhouse. Beth tensed, no matter how hard she tried not to. She resituated beneath the blanket and wished the dead Dixon would disappear for a few hours. Willed her mind to empty itself and let her rest.

He wouldn't allow it, though.

"I get it, alrigh'?" He drawled. "Can't blame ya for wantin' to be all… honorable. And I respect it. In a way. Maybe I underestimated you… Ya ain't like most broads, are ya, blondie?"

Beth bit down on her lower lip and resisted the urge to snap back with an insult. Because gee, what a compliment to be told she 'wasn't like other girls' by some misogynistic asshole.

But then he went on, "Not that it matters—you gotta think about the big picture here. We can pretend the money don't exist, but that ain't gonna bring us any closer to trackin' The Governor down. Doesn't get us any further away from Papa Legba neither."

Her breath hitched in her chest.

Shit. She hadn't been expecting that. But would she ever be prepared to hear valid points from this guy?

"You said ya seen Legba in that vision, claimed you saw his dogs outside the cabin—and then he makes my brother cough up some weird demon snot?" Merle tsked, and Beth could almost hear him shaking his head at the same time. "Sounds ta me like he's gettin' a li'l too close fer comfort. Maybe ya oughta start preparin' some defenses or somethin'. Gettin' yerself ready."

She muttered, barely audible, "Ready for what?"

"For the fuckin' demon that wants to drag my brother's soul down to Hell," Merle replied flatly. "And whatever tricks this demon asshole might have up his sleeve. Shit, who knows—maybe he wants ta snatch up your soul in the process, too. Wouldn't put it past him. Can't be too careful when we're dealin' with Satan's colleagues now, can we?"

She didn't respond, unmoving beneath her blanket. A jolt of fear coursed through her veins and stiffened her spine.

He waited a few seconds before concluding with, "Reckon you oughta grab the reins on this Gift, girlfriend. Otherwise we're gonna be in fer one hell of a disappointing rodeo."

Beth hated this. She really, really hated this.

She hated when Merle was right.

to be continued…